


Before the Apocalypse That Wasn't

by Moonrose91



Series: The New, Nice, and Accurate Prophecies of After [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Aziraphale (Good Omens) is a Cherub, BAMF Aziraphale (Good Omens), Minor Violence, Not the cutsey valentine things that look like cupid; the four-faced kind, RPF Happens Now, minor torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2020-04-24 12:51:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19173646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonrose91/pseuds/Moonrose91
Summary: A collection of one-shots set before the Apocalypse That Wasn't.





	1. English Countryside, 15 April, 1313 A.D.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley hates the 14th Century because it was "boring."
> 
> Aziraphale hates it because he was ripping a cult out of the ground by the roots.

Aziraphale had gotten lost.

It was a rare thing in England, considering how much Aziraphale had meandered around the small isle, yet here he was, quite turned about. He hadn’t thought much of it, right up until he heard the screams of the damned.

Correction.

Screams of _the_ Damned.

Demons.[1]

Aziraphale was…always an odd angel. Not throwing his weight around, for one. Generally not poking or prodding and…enjoying being down on Earth, among the humans. But those screams had him rushing in.

To protect, to defend, even if they _were_ Demons.

The scent that was in the monastery hit him first.

Aziraphale was actually sent to his knees.

He would not be able to describe the smell for a couple of centuries, but it would haunt his moments and memories.

One of the screams had trailed off in the time it takes him to get back to his feet and what he sees…it was horrifying.

There was a husk of what was once an Angel (an Angel-Angel, not a Ranked Angel), lying on the floor, next to another husk, and the Demon (Demon-Demon, not Fallen Angel Demon) is tossed on top of them as the other one screams and bucks against chains, smoke and burns curling up from around the wrists.

Aziraphale was halted by the horror (he won’t be halted again like this till World War II), and the fact there’s another Angel-Angel, bound tight, wings forced out and…and cut off, and another Demon stretched on some rack and burning there too.

Aziraphale was not allowed to kill humans unless he was attacked first, and they don’t notice him.

The Demons and Angels earthen vessels won’t survive about to happen and the Humans minds will shatter under the weight.

“Enough!” Aziraphale shouted and UnVeiled himself.

He holds his head still as his curls fell into a mane of a lion like the rest of his body, with hooves of an ox, and wings like an eagle, omitting the _eyes_ . They spread out of his lion shoulders, folding together before they open, and the eyes _Open_.

They are the eyes of Beyond Understanding, Beyond Comprehending. The Angels and Demons Discorporate, under the Cherub UnVeiled, and the Humans drop, utterly mad.

And then Aziraphale folded the wings back down, the numerous eyes close, and he slowly folded back into his Form of Man, his Fourth Face.

He shook all over and then went around. He scrubbed and hissed when the Demon blood burned his skin. He went at it with the single-minded determination of a man who wanted penance, dousing the place in Holy Water at times, and scrubbing away the horrors as the humans babbled and screamed whenever he got close to them.

Once the room was clean and the husks burned, he searched for their research and then burned it on the ashes of the husks, leaving no trace of what they had done.

He was too tired to find out how to get home, so he just miracled himself home and set about taking care of the burns from Demons’ Blood, muttering under his breath the entire while.

He spent the majority of the 14th Century doing his best to make sure that they were uprooted.

(He missed one. And one is all it takes.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1There was a difference, though not a large one, between the Fallen and Demons, despite what Crowley would insist, or even what Aziraphale would say, but it was just easier to lump everyone in together as 'demon'.[return to text]


	2. Portland Place Club, June 1, 1888

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale has joined a nice little discrete club, trying to ignore the hurt that comes from breaking up with Crowley after an argument (at the beginning of the 1800s), and, well...one other.

Aziraphale smiled as he sat in the charming little discrete club, in this time of…well, upheaval, really. He sometimes wondered if he and--no, no, he could not think about Crowley.

They hadn’t spoken since the beginning of the 19th Century, specifically the 15th of March in 1803. Aziraphale was pretty sure that this meant he was not hearing from Crowley due to their little argument regarding the Holy Water.

“Azael?” one of the men, James, called.[1]

“What’s wrong James?” he asked.

“Mr. Wilde’s here again,” James said and Aziraphale sighed quietly.

“Thank you, James. I’ll…I’ll take care of him,” Aziraphale said and felt his heart twist.

It was rare that Aziraphale _felt_ for a human. They were so mortal.

But Oscar had…wiggled in there, but Aziraphale had refused to continue their liaison when he wanted to get married. It had been a small moment in Aziraphale’s life, a handful of years, but that was what it was.

“Azael,” Oscar greeted.

“Oscar, you’re not a member here, you do have to stop,” Aziraphale said and blinked sharply when he was presented with a wrapped rectangle shaped item.

“It’s for you,” Oscar said. “I know how you love books, and this is mine. I call it _The Happy Prince and Other Tales_.”

Aziraphale accepted it and opened the package. He blinked sharply and carefully opened the green cover to reveal Oscar had signed it.

_To my friend, for the garden he misses, and his selfless acts. ~ Oscar Wilde_

Aziraphale smiled. “Thank you, Oscar, but…this does not change things.”

“I know,” Oscar said. “But, I want you to have it. And all of them. I’ll ship them to you if necessary. You deserve them, my friend.”

Aziraphale smiled at him and gave a nod, and Oscar left while Aziraphale drifted back into the club. “Just wanted to give me his new book,” he explained with a sad smile that he reserved for Oscar and his Old Friend.

They never asked the Old Friend’s name, but they were there for him when Oscar was arrested and sentenced for Gross Indecency.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 James was a fine young man, who was sweet and so very careful. He had helped Aziraphale learn the Gavotte and was _quite_ besotted with Aziraphale.
> 
> Aziraphale had given him his first kiss as he let him down gently and James had taken it very well. He had even moved on, and Aziraphale couldn't be happier for the young man. [return to text]

**Author's Note:**

> GNU Terry Pratchett


End file.
